


Poppies Blow

by atfcx



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Remembrance Day, World War II, poppy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atfcx/pseuds/atfcx
Summary: "We are the Dead.  Short days ago,We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lie,In Flanders fields."
Written for Remembrance day 2016, inspired by the poem "In Flanders Fields"





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure whether to upload this today, 11/11, or on Remembrance Sunday, but whatever here you go.

Sixty years, and he'll never forget it. The gunshots. The explosions. The deaths.

They were invincible back then, back when they were young men fulfilling their duty to fight for their country. Now he's old and frail, and plagued with nightmares from those years.

The only reason he's still alive is because he was shot. And then when he was recovering, aided by a nurse called Jenna, the bomb exploded. Wiping out his closest friends.

Then came the news that the Germans had been overthrown. And he could barely even find it in him to be happy, because the only family he had left were dead, their bodies blown to pieces by the explosion. And he wanted his revenge, he wanted to keep fighting but now it was over and he couldn't.

_Josh, Pete, Patrick, Brendon, Gerard,_  
_You once stood proud. Now your spirits rest peacefully in whatever comes after this life. I miss you all, but I know that God is taking care of you. I shall see you again, soon. For I grow weaker with every passing sunrise and know that my time on this earth is coming to an end. I am blessed to have lived to such an old age._   
_Not long now._   
_\- Tyler_

The old man stumbles towards the crimson-coloured field, clutching the envelope tightly to his chest. He makes his way carefully through the flowers until he stops, right in the centre of the field. Grimacing in pain as he bends down, he places it gently upon the ground.

Straightening up again, he looks down at his letter lying amongst the poppies, the colour of which reminds him of his friends' blood spilled on that fateful day but which has also become a symbol of hope, and he allows himself a small smile.

The man stands there, silently, as the clocks strike 11, and remains there for a long time afterwards.


End file.
